Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Once the Delgados have left the club, Eva makes her way to the surveillance room. I open the door for her, and she walks in.
“Wow,” she says, looking at all the monitors.
“Not every room has surveillance. Just mainly the common areas.” I take a seat at the desk, a bank of monitors behind me.
“Do your eyes ever stray?” she asks me, a gleam of mischief in her eyes.
“Stray to a room where people are having sex?”
She nods, taking a seat on a couch not far from my desk. “Yeah.” She leans back, arching her back in the most seductive way. And she doesn’t even realize how sensual she’s being. She’s probably just stretching her back from a long night at work, but the pervert I am, can’t stop watching the way her neck curves. The way her breasts rise and fall with each breath she takes.
Fuck.
“No,” I say, angry with myself for not being able to control myself.
“Why did you become a priest?” she asks me as she settles into the couch, crossing her legs slowly, drawing my eyes to her long legs. What I wouldn’t give to have those legs wrapped around my neck for an evening.
And now I lie and stick to the story given to me by the F.B.I. “I grew up a Catholic, and always knew I wanted to serve God in some capacity. One thing led to another, and that landed me here.” I don’t go too far into the fake backstory, because honestly I don’t like lying to Eva.
I feel like I’ve seen her life. It’s all been put out there for me to see, every ounce of honesty, and I hate that I can’t do the same for her.
I hate that I can’t tell her how I grew up in Chicago. From an ordinary family and never went to church a day in my life.
How I enlisted to become a cop right out of high school, and that led me to the F.B.I. How I’ve never done anything else. How I’ve never had a life that wasn’t consumed by catching bad men.
“You aren’t like any priest I’ve ever met,” she says softly.
“How many have you met?”
She laughs lightly. “Not too many, but still. You have this fire. This passion for doing the Lord’s work.”
I feel like telling her what I’m really passionate about is catching these bad men and bringing down their trafficking ring. “Yeah,” I say on an exhale.
“Was it hard?”
My eyes widen slightly. “Excuse me?”
She covers her mouth with a gasp. “I didn’t mean it sexually. I meant was it hard to, you know, give it up.”
“Are you talking about sex, Eva?”
She nods quickly. “I don’t know if I ever could. I mean, sure sex isn’t that great, but I don’t know if I could give it up completely.”
There’s so much to unpack in her words, I find myself stumbling over myself on where to start. “Sex isn’t that great?” I ask her, deciding to start there.
She blushes, and the way the color brightens up her cheeks is a major turn on. And now my pants do grow tight across my zipper. “Well,” she starts. “I have really only had sex with my ex-husband, and let’s just say he didn’t really care about my needs.”
I nearly growl at the way she says the words. My mind instantly goes through reel after reel of all the ways I could show her the right ways to be treated. How I could make her come for hours if given the chance.
Maybe when this assignment is over I can find her, ask her out on an actual date. If she would ever forgive me for lying to her, that is.
But for now I’m left staring at her, probably drooling a bit.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Father,” she says, and I shake my head like I’m not bothered at all by her comments.
“It wasn’t hard for me.”
“Do you not enjoy sex either?” she asks me with this doe-eyed expression.
I crack a grin. “I enjoy it… a lot,” I say.
“So why give it up?”
I really don’t have an answer for her, so I go with the truth. “Sometimes there’s more to life than sex. I enjoyed sex. I was good at it, but there’s a bigger purpose for me. This sex-trafficking ring is my main focus now.”
Her mouth hangs open, like I’ve shocked her with something I’ve said. “You’re good at it,” she whispers, and I nearly groan out loud at the implication.
Like she wants me to show her just how good I can be.
And with her I could be so fucking good.
The way her eyes bore into mine makes me feel dizzy with lust. Like I’ve had one too many beers, and now I need somebody to drive me home and put me to bed. Preferably her.